Legolas, the Dwarf
by Maeglin the Traitor
Summary: The effects of hatred, on those who fight it and those who embrace it.
1. Endings and Beginnings

Title: Legolas, the Dwarf  
  
Author: Maeglin the Traitor  
  
Rating: Currently, PG-13  
  
Warning: Implied Slash L/G  
  
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tolkien. I write for no enrichment except my own entertainment.  
  
Notice: This is AU. Please do not write to me and tell me that it does not agree with all that Tolkien wrote. To quote my beloved Master Erestor of Rivendell:  
  
"We prefer bow and arrow to canon."  
  
Author's note: I thank The Magic Rat for her kind permission to use ideas introduced in her story "The Last Homely House". The ideas of Gloín adopting Legolas, the dwarven hairstyle and clothing and the necklace of runes were originally hers. She has graciously allowed me to do with them what I will. Thank you, dear Rodent!  
  
To those who are not familiar with her fiction, you do not know what you miss! It is a whole new world. Be introduced to Mauberz the Straggler, Rabbit, Bramble, Frost and--Eru save us--Rúmil the Catamite!  
  
Please note that I have tried to give links for the beloved Rodent and Master Erestor, but the cretins at this site apparently do not accept them. In Google, type in "The Magic Rat" or "Master Erestor" or "The Vanilla Elf". Contact me if you cannot find them!  
  
Maeglin the Traitor  
  
__________________  
  
Chapter 1 - Endings and Beginnings  
  
Gloín had seen the elven messengers arrive early that morning from Imladris and Eryn Lasgalen. He had watched idly as Legolas had accepted several missives to distribute to those elves in his party who visited Aglarond with him. Several letters he had seen the elf tuck inside his own tunic, as if to read later.  
  
Not an hour later, Gloín in his wanderings had first seen the young elf sitting by himself in total stillness. He had shaken his head as always at the ways of elves and continued on with his walk towards the mine and the day's work.  
  
As he walked, he mused about these elves of the new colony in Ithilien. They were different somehow than those he had known before. They had come to this ravaged land of the humans with the intent of healing it. They were serious in that purpose and not flighty as Gloín remembered elves. Or, thought he did. He wondered sometimes if his memory was as clear as he had always been sure. Gloín scowled suddenly. One memory of elves was crystal in his mind. This young one's father had thrown him into a dungeon.  
  
Still, Gloín's mind had always been fair. He remembered also the recent weeks of hearing Legolas' laughter and his son's mingled together. He had seen the skinny creature work as hard as any dwarf, even harder if Gloín were truly honest. He did not know what to think of Legolas. The elf his son said that he loved.  
  
No task seemed too humble or difficult for the elegant creature to set his hand upon. With the others of his kind, he had toiled in the hot sun and dug gardens. He had wrestled with tree stumps and rocks and hauled and spread manure as if it were gold. He came home to the rooms he shared with Gimli and Gloín so dirty that he would not let Gimli near him or come into the rooms until he bathed. Once, he had been so exhausted that he had fallen asleep in the tub, and Gimli still teased him about that.  
  
The dwarves of Aglarond had begun their observations of the elves with thinly veiled mockery, and they made sure their comments were overheard. On more than several occasions, Gloín had restrained his hot-headed son from attacking another dwarf over hurtful words.  
  
Legolas had laughed and shook his head at Gimli each time that his anger exploded. He and his elves wanted peace. Pushing back his golden hair from his sweat-streaked face, he had begun to sing always, and the other elves had joined him. If you were singing, the mocking comments could not be heard.  
  
The mockery had ceased two weeks before. A mine cave-in had trapped several dwarves in a place beyond an opening too narrow for their thick dwarven bodies to enter. To enlarge the narrow fissure would take at least a day. By then, the air within the collapsed tunnel would have been gone, and the dwarves trapped there would be dead.  
  
Gloín remembered how quietly Legolas had stepped before the assembled dwarves with all of his elves behind him:  
  
"Our bodies are slender. They will fit through the opening. Tell us what we must do, for mining is not our skill. We will get your friends out. When they are in the air again, you can enlarge the opening and free them."  
  
The dwarves of Aglarond had watched as one by one the elves twisted lithe bodies through the narrow opening. For hours without stopping, the elves had heeded the instructions of the dwarves and worked to clear the rubble from the tunnel. They had worked silently and beyond the point where even the strongest dwarf would have dropped with exhaustion.  
  
Gloín remembered the tremendous shout of joy from the trapped miners when cool air finally rushed into their tomb. He remembered the cries of glad rejoicing from the elves. The elves from Ithilien had begun to sing then, as elves always seemed to do. Somehow, to the dwarves of Aglarond, the singing no longer seemed funny. The dwarves had continued their sturdy attempts to widen the opening with renewed heart and soon it was done.  
  
The elves came out then, supporting those who had been trapped and carrying those dwarves who could not walk. Their slender bodies were covered with dirt, and their bright hair was hidden beneath the dust of rock. In the chaos and rejoicing of the recovery, the elves had drawn back from the dwarves as they had learned it was safer to do. Gloín was the first to notice their hands. With a cry for the healers, the old dwarf grasped Legolas' wrists.  
  
The beautiful white hands of the prince and those of all the elves were badly torn and bleeding. They had dug away the last stones to free the air hole with their fingers. It had been too dangerous to use picks for they did not know if the trapped miners had enough room to evade the blows of the heavy instruments.  
  
The dwarves of Aglarond had seen the tortured and bleeding white hands, and they had suddenly felt shame. Hatred had begun to die that day in Aglarond.  
*****  
  
Returning six hours later from his work in the new mine, Gloín noted the elf was still there where he had been in the morning, unnoticed by all in their comings and goings through the day because his perch was in the shelter of the old cave's entrance. It was a natural alcove that Gloín himself sometimes used for a quiet pipe and some musings at the end of a day. Curious, he approached the hidden elf.  
  
Now, Gloín was a dwarf and no master of silent movement. Never before had he been able to get within twenty feet of Legolas without the keen eyes of the elf noting his approach. When he had been able to not only reach the elf unnoticed but also to lay his hand upon the thin shoulder without the slightest reaction, he had acted on centuries of instinct. This cold stillness could not be normal even for an elf. Gloín had called out to the first dwarf he saw to find his son Gimli and bring him swiftly.  
  
Alone with the elf, Gloin suddenly drew him into his arms and held him. He felt the slender body shudder as if with inner pain and, forgetting that this was his enemy of old, he began to rock the suffering creature gently in his arms, making softer sounds than an elf had ever before heard from a dwarf.  
  
The language Legolas did not know, but the warmth that enveloped him brought healing and desperately called him back from the cold abyss where he was falling. He smelled the scent of the earth in the old dwarf's body, and it seemed good to him. He burrowed his face against it, thinking he would not be so frightened now when they placed his body beneath it.  
  
Legolas had decided to die, but he still feared to be beneath the earth and in its darkness. Perhaps it would not be so bad if it smelled like Gimli's father. He must leave now. He knew it, yet the old and strong voice kept calling him, refusing to let him go. Still falling, Legolas listened to it in the distance as to the rumbling of the earth.  
  
"You must not die, young one. You are needed and loved. What has brought you to this place I can guess. Whatever has been said, we will face with you. You must not leave Arda. You must stay here for this old fool of a dwarf. You must stay here for my son Gimli."  
  
*****  
  
Gloín looked at his son sitting beside the elf. His son. Gimli. Gimli, whom he had raised to despise the elves, especially those of Thranduil.  
  
The old dwarf watched at the awkwardly gentle attempts of his young one to reach the elf he held in his arms. The tall golden creature of beauty lay as still as the stone his son's hands had mined all his life. Legolas let the dwarven hands touch his face and caress his thin arms and back, but he did not react. The elf felt his heart broken, and he continued to turn his face from Arda and fall through his darkness. Gimli saw life ebbing from the eyes of his beloved and called out to his father in fear such as Gloín had never heard drawn from his son before.  
  
The old dwarf made his decision. It went against centuries of the custom of their folk and all that he thought was the inner core of his own being, The elf must not die or his son would as well. Gloín did not wish to lose his son. . .or the elf.  
  
Gloín knelt beside the dying elf and gripped his arm firmly. As he fell, Legolas felt the strength of that old hand catching him, holding him, keeping him from touching the bottom of the abyss that he so desperately sought.  
  
"Legolas, my son, come back to your father. You are my son now as much as Gimli is, and I am not willing that you leave me. A dwarf does not lightly surrender treasure, and you have become my jewel. Heed my words, my son, and return. I love you too much to let you fall." Gloín found himself kissing the elf's face and saw his own tears fall upon it. He did not understand the love suddenly in his own heart, but he knew he was fighting for this young one as he would have fought to save Gimli. This was his son now. 


	2. Past Darkness

Title: Legolas, the Dwarf  
  
Author: Maeglin the Traitor  
  
Rating: Currently, PG-13  
  
Warning: Implied Slash L/G  
  
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Tolkien. I write for no enrichment except my own entertainment.  
  
Notice: To the Canon Police, I state clearly that this story is AU:  
  
"We prefer bow and arrow to canon."  
--Master Erestor of Rivendell  
  
Author's notes: I thank The Magic Rat for her kind permission to use ideas introduced in her story The Last Homely House. May mead and laughter always be present in your life, Rattie!  
  
Despite all current appearances, this is not a "Bad Thranduil" story. I love the elven king and would not do that to him!  
  
*****  
  
Chapter 2 - Past Darkness  
  
"So, you are awake at last?" Gloín's voice was gruffer than he meant it to be. The young elf looked at him with something like fear, and he found himself reaching his hand out to stroke back that impossible golden hair from Legolas' face. "You needed to sleep, Legolas. I did not mean to accuse you. It is only that I am used to a very stubborn dwarf as my child, not an elf such as you. You are safe. I promise."  
  
"I should not be here." Legolas' voice was cracked and dry from the long days of sleep, and there was confusion in his words.  
  
"Do you mean you should be dead?" The elf nodded, and Gloín felt anger rise again in him as it had during all the days he had watched by this bedside. To gain control of this anger, he poured the sweet apple juice Legolas' friend had brought into a cup and lifted Legolas from his pillows. Holding him, Gloín held the cup to his lips. "Drink this. Brethil brought you this juice. He says you like it very much, so drink."  
  
Legolas drank and thought of his childhood friend. The apples tasted of Brethil. He grew them in his orchard that he had found and rescued from its lack of care, In his new press, the culled apples became the sweetest juice. He had tended the orchards in Eryn Lasgalen with his father and uncle before he followed his friend to Ithilien. Legolas had always loved his apple juice more than the finest wine. What would become of Brethil and the other elves now? He no longer had power to protect them, and there were orders.  
  
"They are still here? The elves?"  
  
"Of course, they are here! Where else would they be? This is their home." Gloín saw the tears fill the elf's eyes, and his patience came to an end even though he was careful now to keep his voice gentle. An elf as a son was certainly more trying than Gimli. He would not have thought that possible. "I want to know what was in those letters, son."  
  
"You call me son? It was not a dream?" The thin arms came around his neck, and Gloín found himself holding Legolas close, stroking the gold hair silently and feeling hot tears trickle against his neck. Perhaps, an elf was not so much trouble after all thought Gloín. He could get used to it. He just had to remember not to swear at this child the way he did at Gimli. He could see that that might cause problems. Not swearing at a son would take some adjustments. Gloín smiled into the puzzled eyes watching him.  
  
"Do you not mean a nightmare? What elf would want this old goat of a dwarf as his papa?"  
  
"I would. . .Papa." The simple words so hesitantly spoken went straight into Gloín's heart. From this moment, the elf was forever his child.  
  
"I always suspected elves had no sense, and you have just proved it. Well, son, your papa has questions now, and he wants answers. But, first he wants to know if you are sure that he loves you?"  
  
Despite his fear at the questions, Legolas felt warmed by the strength of the old dwarf. He looked at him and did not doubt that the old one loved him. Gimli had told him that in their families dwarves did not lie. In the darkness that still lingered with him, the elf took comfort that he was now part of that family. He was a dwarf.  
  
"I believe that, Papa. It makes my heart glad." The elf brought the still strong hand to his lips and softly kissed it.  
  
"What was in the letters, Legolas? I can think of nothing else that would have made you do such a thing. Decide to die? Do you know what that did to Gimli and me?" "I am sorry, Papa. I was just so unhappy, and I thought it would be easier for Gimli if I were not here to complicate his life. I did not even know then that you loved me."  
  
"Just shows you how foolish elves can be, does it not? Gimli is happiest when his life is complicated by you. Get used to that fact, young one. As for me, if you are too stupid to realize that I love you, I shall just have to tell you that fact often. You do not die on us, elf. Do you understand that? I will drag you back by your pretty hair if you ever try this again, and then you will know what it is like to see me angry. I make Gimli seem like a babbling brook when I roar."  
  
For the first time, Legolas smiled. Gently, he touched the white beard of his new father and marveled at its softness. "I will obey you, Papa. I will not die. Not if you love me. That is worth any pain, even life."  
  
To his very great surprise, Gloín found himself bending over to kiss the elf's cheek. He found he liked the warm smile he received for the small gesture, and there were no other dwarves around to see him after all. To bring that soft look to the eyes of his new son, the old dwarf decided he would have done just the same even if Durin himself had been present.  
  
"Now, young one, I want answers." His rough hand was gentle as it held the elf's chin. "No, do not turn your face away from me. Whatever has happened to cause you to throw away your life is something your father must know. It is my job to protect my young ones."  
  
"Do you have the letters I carried when I. . ." Legolas seemed uncomfortable, and Gloín quickly got up to go to the table in the small room the elf and Gimli shared.  
  
"We put them here. Brethil found them when he went back for your cape and knives. We did not read them, young one." Gloín was fairly sure that elves would need to be reassured that dwarves would respect their privacy. He handed Legolas the small packet of letters that Brethil had brought back. In his heart, Gloín was pleased at the look of shock on Legolas' face at his words.  
  
"I would never think that you had, Papa! You should know that. Gimli's honor is too high for such a thing, and he is your son, so I know yours is higher still for you raised him." Legolas fingered the one letter that had been opened and handed it to Gloín. "It is from my father's scribe. It is written in common. The scribe says that my father decrees that I am unworthy to be addressed in Sindarin. He did not even think it worth his time to write to me himself when he tore my heart from my body. I cannot say the words. Read them, Papa, and let Gimli know. I cannot tell him myself. I am too ashamed."  
  
Gloín felt the elf's slender fingers toying with his own sturdy hand, as if Legolas did not know what to do with his own hands as he waited for the letter to be read.  
  
The fury that rose in the dwarf's heart at the cold words he read was almost more than he could contain. Thranduil, the scribe had written, wished to inform Legolas that he was an abomination and no longer his son. It said that he was banished from his home for the rest of his immortal life on pain of death for his unnatural alliance with a dwarf. His mere presence on Arda sickened the king the scribe had written and the king wished to have no further communication about his former son until someone brought him the welcome news of Legolas' death. It ended by ordering all the elves of the colony back to Eryn Lasgalen on pain of their own banishment if they continued their association with Legolas.  
  
"For the words of this scum, you were ready to die? Thranduil is a stubborn fool, Legolas. He always has been and age does not improve him it seems."  
  
"He is. . .was my father. I cannot stop loving him just because he has turned his face from me. Papa, it hurts! Gimli is fine and good and honorable, and I love him. That I love makes me an abomination and filth to my father? My father and my king wishes me to die."  
  
"So, you thought you would just oblige him, like a good and dutiful elven son? He does not deserve your death, Legolas. Gimli deserves your life more than Thranduil merits your death! Did you not think of that before you almost broke Gimli's heart?"  
  
"I could not think, Papa! I was too unhappy. It felt as if my heart was breaking with the grief. Gimli deserves better than me. Even my own people will not have me now. Brethil and the others will return to Eryn Lasgalen."  
  
"I do not think we are ready to do that, Legolas."  
  
Neither Gloín nor Legolas had heard the quiet entrance of the second elf. Brethil came over and sat on the bed next to his friend. His kind eyes smiled as always at Legolas, although his heart was angry. Thranduil had also sent a letter to the elders of the Ithilien elves.  
  
"Brethil, the king has ordered it. You must obey."  
  
"He is no longer our king, Legolas. We serve you, our prince, and only you. We have met together, and this is our common will. We will remain in Ithilien with you and Gimli. I was asked to bring you our word and our promise. Your people here love you, Legolas. You labor with us and rejoice with us as Thranduil has never done. We are loyal to you, my lord."  
  
"Brethil, I have no power to protect you. A life of exile will be a hard one. I do not know what the other elven realms will do."  
  
"I cannot speak for Imladris, but I have had word from my cousin Celeborn. Legolas, he has sent you his love and his continued friendship. He bade me tell you this. He also sends his respect to Gimli and bids me tell you that he will speak to Thranduil when the time is ripe.  
  
"Adar will never change his mind, but I am grateful for Lord Celeborn's friendship. Brethil, your family is still in Eryn Lasgalen."  
  
"My father sends word for me to follow my heart and my head. He knows I will not abandon our friendship when it is most necessary to you. He says in the spring he and mother will come to visit our colony and meet Gimli. Thranduil does not dare forbid that it seems! As for protection, perhaps if we learn to drink ale the dwarves will not realize that we are elves should we have need of aid?"  
  
Brethil grinned at Legolas and Gloín and quite suddenly all three began to laugh at the idea of the ale-drinking elves of Ithilien. Legolas laughed until he was breathless and his sides hurt, and it felt so good. He had Brethil and the ale-drinking elves and his papa and Gimli. 


End file.
